


Gold From the Ashes

by WingedFlight



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, Gods, trickster goddess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:56:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25772443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedFlight/pseuds/WingedFlight
Summary: The gods have always been quick to fall to bickering.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Gold From the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted to FF.net in 2013; Cross-posted to AO3 in August 2020]

_ It is said that in the old days, the gods were quick to fall to bickering. Displeased with the roles that had been allotted to them, there was much vying for the attention of the Emperor-Beyond-The-Sea. As one with many worlds to care for, the Emperor had little time for such petty squabbles and turned away from even the most rational of pleas for judgement and order.  _

_ When the witch of the north approached Time, he seized the opportunity to gain an upper hand in the conflict. For nigh a hundred years, he held hostage the favoured country of his brother god Aslan. But when the witch fell and the support of those gods on Time’s side drew away, Aslan cast him into a deep sleep from which Time could not wake until the very end of days.  _

* * *

Like the harsh desert wind on the eve of midsummer, the voice of a god breathes from the shadows:  _ Would you look and see — it’s my favourite lion come to visit.  _

“I did not come for you, Tash.” 

_ No? _ A brittle twig snaps as the lion passes, its echo bouncing off the beehive tombs. The sound is akin to a beak clicking in amusement.  _ I would think you would value my advice after so long.  _ A pause, and then the voice adds slyly,  _ As I value yours.  _

The lion bares his teeth, pausing between the two largest tombs to glare into their shadows. Ignoring Tash, he calls to the goddess hiding within, “Zardeenah.” 

A languid sigh meets her name. Something moves within the shadows. When she speaks, her voice is sleek and disinterested. “It was not I who set the rules upon this world, as you well know. Clean up your own mess, lion.”

Tash cackles again. The sand dances on his breath, spinning upward in a pillar as tall as the tombs themselves until it drops away to reveal the god’s physical form. “Someone didn’t think things through,” he says, still chuckling as he paces forward. “Oh, what  _ will _ dear father say?” 

Aslan’s gaze snaps to the war god. “Do not dare to mention —”

Tash raises two of his six arms to his beak in mock horror. “My apologies.” His eyes gleam. “Aslan, wild lion god of the forests and beasts. You made a mistake — it can happen to the best of us.” 

“I do not make mistakes,” cuts in Zardeenah from the shadows. 

Tash continues as though he hadn’t heard her. “I understand that you were only trying to do what was right for your precious country. But things are a mess. In the slang of another world, Aslan, you screwed up.” 

The lion’s growl is soft and foreboding. 

“You got comfortable. You thought your perfect Golden Age could last forever. You thought maybe you deserved a bit of a break — and why not?” 

“I did not —”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t. Not really. You were watching, after all. Watching and waiting as your dear country was overrun by those pesky, savage Telmarines. Watching and waiting until finally, a brilliant idea popped into your head.” 

“A wonder in and of itself,” comments Zardeenah under her breath. 

Tash throws his six arms into the air. “You would bring your pet humans  _ back _ and everything would be  _ better _ . And didn’t that work out so well for you?” 

A sudden, sharp roar cuts him off. “Leave me be, Tash,” says the lion, his voice harsh with warning. “You do not want to test me now.” 

“No, I probably don’t,” the other god responds. Aside from stepping back, he appears unaffected by Aslan’s anger. “But… see, I do wonder. Surely you don’t think it’s going to be as easy as putting your pet humans back on the throne? You have to realize they aren’t going to go along with your plan as easily as last time. Why, they haven’t yet forgiven you for sending them back to their own world!” 

“Their time here was done.” 

Zardeenah hums, unconvinced. 

“You tossed them aside like forgotten playthings,” retorts Tash. “And brought them back too late to repair the damage. I say again: What makes you think you’ve been forgiven? And what in all the Emperor’s worlds makes you think they’ll play another round of your silly game?”

* * *

In the cool of the Narnian forests, a bright voice drifts from the trees:  _ Aslan, my favourite wild lion god — I will help you. _

“I did not ask for your help, Zelphi.” 

_ No? _ She snorts, a gust of wind that sends bright green leaves tumbling forward across his path.  _ You need someone to help. And I can be so useful. _

“You're nothing but trouble.” 

One after another, the leaves freeze in midair and fade from green to brown to gold.  _ Trouble can be useful _ , she declares, and steps from the trees. With a wave of her hand, the leaves tumble to the ground. They crunch beneath Aslan’s paw as he takes another step forward. 

“Then what do you propose?” 

Her answer is immediate and brief. “Send them back.” 

Aslan growls deep in his throat. 

“You know Tash and Zardeenah are right,” Zelphi continues quickly. She skips forward to keep up with him, long hair streaming silver behind her. “You have only to look at your four to feel their ache of unhealed wounds. You need someone to sew this country together, not rip it apart. And I know who best to pick.” 

“Once a king or —” 

She snarls. “Don’t give me that rubbish. You know I speak the truth. Look at your high king, crossing swords with any he meets. Your gentle queen, so weary of the pull between worlds. Do you really think his anger is with the Telmarine prince? Do you honestly believe she will find rest again in this world?”

Aslan halts, his claws digging into the soil of the forest floor. Zelphi wheels to face him, her eyes bright and intense. “I may be a trickster but I am no fool,” she says, “And neither are you.” 

“I called them back for a reason,” he tells her, stubborn as always. 

Zelphi shakes her head. Then she flashes a sudden, bright grin. “Go ahead, then. It will be glorious chaos and I will be there to pick gold from the ashes.” 

“They will rule again.” 

“Wait and see,” she sing-songs, eyes glinting. Her hair gleams white in the light and she slips back into the cover of the trees. “Just wait.” 

* * *

The other gods are little help.

In the deepest glade of the oldest Narnian forest, Aslan finds Pan on a nest of branches and hay-clippings.  _ I sleep with my trees, _ sighs the nature god,  _ Wake me when the forests move and breathe again. _

On the water-worn Eastern cliffs, Aslan calls out to the god of the ocean.  _ Unchain my son the river, _ is the only response,  _ Then we may talk. _

The Hunt has no interest in petty civil wars. Fate is too busy dancing in the skies. Health tends a plague in the west. Death merely grins and turns away.

Hearth looks at Aslan and says soft as the crackling flames she tends,  _ I will not speak to one who pulls his children away from their home. _

Fertility laughs and turns a cartwheel. “Lead and I shall follow, my lion, my king!” he cries. “Euan, euoi-oi-oi!” And through the hills, his call echoes:  _ Euan, euoi-oi-oi! _

* * *

“Bacchus?” laughs Zelphi later when she slinks into the victory camp. She wears the guise of a silver fox, the moonlight dancing off her pelt as she moves. “You couldn’t find anyone else?” 

“I did not need any at all,” retorts Aslan. He is tense as he watches the embers of a bonfire, his tail twitching as she nears. 

“Oh, I see. It was mere courtesy that send you scurrying after your fellow gods. What did you say to them? ‘ _ Come join my revolution, it’s going to be so much fun?’” _

As usual, he does not respond to her goading. “These four,” he says, nodding his head towards the Pevensies where they lay together in the grass, “These are my kings and queens. They brought Narnia into a new and great age once before and they can do it again.” 

She regards them with unblinking eyes. “They won’t do it again. Not for you. Not for this tarnished version of their beloved kingdom. Send them home.” 

“There’s no one else.” 

With one paw, she draws a looping pattern into the earth. “There’s always someone else. What’s that silly law again? Only a human can rule your precious country?” She barks a laugh. “You have plenty enough of those running around these days.” 

“Descendants,” he says dismissively, “It isn’t the same thing. Their blood has grown thin in this world.” 

“Not to mention the intermarriages,” she adds in amusement. “But the same happened with Frank’s line, and they turned out alright.” 

“Frank’s line grew weak. Their hold on the country slipped and the tree of protection died. Narnia spent a hundred years trapped in a timeless bubble because I did not see that his descendants had grown frail.” 

Zelphi’s eyes are hooded as she turns her gaze to the embers. “Narnia spent a hundred years in a timeless bubble because my brother broke his oath to you. Do you think I would do the same? I have said before that I know how you can heal this country. But first, you must send them back.” 

* * *

In the orchards of the Tisroc (may he die like any other mortal), the war god idles in the midday heat. He perks up when Aslan approaches, chortling and waving an arm in undisguised glee. “Zelphi?” he laughs when the lion draws near, “You couldn’t find anyone else?” 

“I would never ask you,” retorts Aslan. He levels a glare before sweeping his gaze to the shadows of the largest tree. 

The war god takes no offence at the statement, settling back against the trunk of the pomegranate tree. “One day, perhaps. How goes your precious new human bloodline? Or — hang on, I seem to remember hearing something about a star. Contamination already? Such a pity.” 

“Where is Zardeenah?” 

“Hm?” Tash twists to peer into the shadows as though only just noticing the goddess’s absence. “She took to the skies to visit dear sister Fate. She won’t return for many a night, and we both know you won’t find help from her when she does.” 

With an irritated snarl, Aslan turns away. Tash leans forward again. 

“Some friendly advice for you, lion. Night and Time have always been closest amongst us squabbling gods. It will take more than the passing of centuries before Zardeenah forgives you for casting that punishment upon her brother.”

Aslan pauses almost imperceptibly before continuing on his way. Unconcerned, Tash raises an arm to airily wave him farewell. “Of course, sending your pet humans home was certainly a step in the right direction,” he calls after the lion. “But it might help if you were to train yourself out of that habit of bringing them here at all.” 

The lion does not deign to answer. 

* * *

_ “But does he trust you?” asks the voice as soft as night. “Does he follow the twisting path of your words in blind faith, or still study them in the light for tricks?”  _

_ “My words always hold tricks,” answers the other, “And so I leave some for him to find that he might not see the larger ruse we employ. Aslan will follow where I lead as willingly as a horse to water.”  _

_ “And there may he drink the poison of his own conceit.” _

_ “May it be so,” agrees the Trickster, “For in doing so, he will open the door that wakens our dear brother at last.”  _

* * *

End.


End file.
